


That Sidewalk's a Menace

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: By request, for @xphile101 - a Barson back massage :) I hope it's good enough until I have time for those longer cliche fics I've promised...





	That Sidewalk's a Menace

Barba sat on the edge of Benson’s desk and dropped the file in front of her with a dull thud. “This case is a mess from start to finish,” he said, watching as she flipped the folder open. “How’m I supposed to convince a jury when I don’t even know—” He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he peered at her. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she answered, rolling her shoulders a bit. Then, because she could feel his skeptical gaze, she glanced up at him and added, “I just tweaked my back a little.”

“Tweaked?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes. “I just slipped—”

“The sidewalk out here is a menace.”

“—outside my _apartment_ , and twisted—”

“The sidewalk at your building is a menace.”

“—my lower back. It’s fine. It _will_ be fine,” she said. “Let’s just go over this—”

“Did you take something? You want a muscle relaxer?”

She tipped her head to look up at him. “I hope you’re not offering me a prescription drug, Counsellor,” she said, with a small smile.

He frowned at her. “Oh, come off it, Liv,” he said, sounding annoyed. “You can barely move.”

“Barba, really, it’s—”

He stood and twirled his finger in the air. “Turn,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

His features settled into an expression of impatience that she knew well. He shifted a leg, putting his foot against one of the wheels of her chair, and took hold of the seatback. He gestured again with his finger. “Turn,” he repeated. “Come on.”

Benson offered a small laugh. “Did you go to medical school without telling me?”

“You grow up with an _abuelita_ with a bad back, you learn things. Don’t make me turn you.”

She laughed again. “I’d like to see you try,” she said, but she took hold of the desk in one hand, and the edge of the seat with the other, and carefully shifted her legs away from him with a wince.

“Hold on, rolling,” he murmured, and he carefully moved the chair closer to the desk so she could brace herself. “Lower back?” he asked.

“Yeah, right—” She sucked in a sharp breath when he touched his thumbs to either side of her spine. “…there,” she muttered after a moment.

“Muscle?” he asked. “Or should you go—”

“Just a pulled muscle, or…” She trailed off as he pressed his thumbs more firmly against her lower back.

Behind her, Barba slowly sank into a crouch.

“Was that your knees popping?” she asked.

He chuckled. “You know what they say,” he murmured, pressing his thumbs into her tensed muscles. “You’re only as old as your…joints.”

“Or back,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment as he started massaging in circles with his thumbs, the pressure light at first. His right thumb moved clockwise, left thumb, counterclockwise. After a moment, she felt his fingers, splayed near her hips, and he pressed his thumbs more firmly into her sore muscle. She caught her breath and held onto the desk.

“Keep breathing,” he said, softly. “Just relax.”

“I am relaxed,” she muttered, and he chuckled again.

“If you say so,” he answered, and she could hear the crack of amusement in his voice. She found herself smiling in return, in spite of the pain. His thumbs slid a little lower, pressing, circling, almost dipping into the waistband of her trousers. His fingers were warm against her sides; she could feel the heat, seeping through her shirt.

Even though he was behind her, she could smell his cologne. She could hear the soft puffs of his breath as he concentrated on his hands at her back. She was suddenly aware of how intimate his touch felt, how _good_ it felt, and she could feel herself relaxing against his hands. Her muscles were already beginning to loosen, and she tipped her chin down, again closing her eyes.

He circled the pads of his thumbs upward, in opposing arcs, moving slowly. His fingers slid upward, too, until they were spread along her ribcage. His thumbs, in their slow and steady ministrations, reached the back of her bra, and she felt him hesitate for a moment. She could tell him that he could stop, that she already felt better and that her upper back hadn’t been hurt to begin with, but she kept her silence, waiting. He continued massaging, and as his fingers moved higher, he curled them inward, away from the sides of her breasts, and her pang of disappointment surprised her. She felt the gentle pressure of his knuckles beneath her shoulder blades.

Then his thumbs were massaging the knots from her trapezius, and she pressed her lips together to hold back her moan. He lifted a hand and gently swept her hair up and over her shoulder, his fingers brushing her neck. His fingers curled over her shoulders and his thumbs massaged the tender indentations there. His hands lingered, his movements languid, for what felt like a long time. Then—reluctantly, she thought—he reversed his course, and reversed the circles of his thumbs; left thumb, clockwise, right thumb, counterclockwise. His hands slid over her shoulder blades, his fingers—feather-light, the touch ghostly—brushing the sides of her bra through her shirt.

She could barely breathe. Desire, first a low and simmering heat in her belly, had spread outward, burning hotter, until it threatened to consume her. Its intensity stunned her.

Barba’s hands were strong, warm and steady, and she wanted to feel them slide around her waist, across her stomach—She swallowed, opening her eyes to stare at the floor. His thumbs had reached her waistband again, and they slowed to a stop. Still, his hands lingered at her back and hips, and she heard him draw an unsteady breath.

“You massaged your grandmother like that?” she heard herself murmur.

He had to clear his throat, and that brought a smile to her lips. She was relieved to know she wasn’t the only one affected. “Not exactly like that,” he said, quietly. She could actually hear him swallow. “Feel better?” he asked.

She rolled her head and shifted her shoulders a bit. “Yes,” she said. His hands were still on her lower back. “Thank you.”

He moved one hand to the back of the chair, but she could still feel its ghostly warmth on her skin. He moved the other to the desk, nearly touching her hand, and he slowly straightened. She didn’t like the sense of disappointment settling into her stomach.

She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes, and her breath caught at the heat she saw burning there. “I owe you one,” she managed. “If you ever, you know…tweak something…”

The corners of his lips quirked, and he said, “That sidewalk’s a menace.”

“You’d better be careful,” she answered.

His smile widened.

 


End file.
